When the Evil Gods descended upon the world, they unleashed a dark energy that slowly corrupted everything—life, spirits, gods, and even abstract forces like mana and life force. This sinister energy, known as Etherium, became the source of all corruption.
For ages, no one could manipulate or control this energy. That changed with the emergence of individuals known as Warlocks. With the aid of Arcane Machina, they gradually learned to harness Etherium, though at a steep cost—the slow loss of their sense of self.
Light knew little about Warlocks, aside from what Ignatius had mentioned once before. He had never seen one, let alone interacted with one. The existence of Warlocks was kept hidden from the masses.
So, he's a Warlock. No wonder he's so powerful, Light thought, his demeanor growing more serious.
"And here I thought warlocks wielded staves or magic books," he muttered.
The leader, however, heard him.
"It seems you're living in a fantasy," the leader said, his voice calm and composed as if he had complete control of the situation. "Warlocks are not like those in your storybooks. We are the architects of our damnation, sculpting power from decay and despair. Etherium whispers promises of greatness, but every spell drawn is a step closer to the abyss. In this dance of corrosion and ambition, the question is not whether we will fall—but how far we'll dare to rise before we do."
Light blinked, momentarily speechless. He hadn't expected the leader to deliver such a dramatic monologue. It was almost poetic.
Is he throwing quotes now? Light thought, surprised. But judging by the leader's tone and the glint in his eyes, it seemed like he was deeply prideful—and offended by Light's earlier remark about warlocks.
"What do you want from us?" Light asked, changing the subject. He didn't want to discuss warlocks any further—his lack of knowledge could make things worse, and he sensed that pushing the topic might provoke the leader into something reckless.
"We only want your life," the leader replied coldly.
"My life? Why? We didn't offend you, or perhaps…" Light trailed off, his eyes narrowing as if piecing something together. Then, a glint of realization sparked in his gaze.
"…Are you a madman?" Light asked jokingly.
"No. Madmen live in chaos, without purpose. We are different. We want your life because it serves our goal," the leader replied, his tone serious. Either he didn't care about the joke, or he didn't realize it was a joke.
Light opened his mouth to reply, but then he noticed something strange—his shadow was burning. Pain surged through his body, momentarily stunning him. Damn it, I was too careless!
Quickly, he raised his claw to block the leader's incoming attack. A fire ignited along the leader's prosthetic arm, dark flames coursing down its length, rushing toward Light's face.
Damn! This guy! Light thought, his instincts kicking in. He let out a sharp whistle, and a swarm of rats surged forward. Just as the shadow flames were about to reach his eyes, one of the rats leaped into the path of the flames. The creature let out a shrill scream as it fell, motionless. Strangely, there was no visible fire on its body—but its shadow had completely vanished.
Light used the distraction to step back, slashing his wrist with his claw. Blood dripped from the wound, and he hurled it toward the leader's eyes. The leader reacted swiftly, raising his arm to block the attack.
"What kind of power is that?" Light growled. The leader wasn't just a thug—he was trained, skilled, and armed with a dangerous power.
"My power?" the leader sneered, rushing at Light again as their battle raged on. "My power burns the shadows of the living. My flames aren't hot, but when you die, you'll feel the burning anguish of my shadow flame. That's when the real pain begins."
"You know, I've never seen a race like yours before—a humanoid rat? Interesting," the leader said, his tone dripping with curiosity. "Indeed, they were right. You bear the touch of the King in Yellow."
Light ignored the comment, his focus sharpening. The leader was as powerful as he'd expected, his energy at the peak of the Soldier Class. Light assessed strength based on energy levels: Soldier Class ranged from 101 to 202, and anything above that was Knight Class. Among the Ratkin, only he and Broadspine possessed peak Soldier Class power.
As for Ignatius, even though he was technically a Knight Class, his lack of combat skills made him practically useless in a fight.
Blood vessels began to surface on Light's claws, pulsing with raw energy. In a blink, he vanished, reappearing behind the leader. With a powerful slam of his claws, a deafening boom echoed through the alley as the leader was sent flying.
"I was going easy on you before, and that made me careless," Light said. "Now, tell me—what's the real reason behind your attack?"
With all his abilities combined, even a peak Soldier-Class warrior like the Leader, Light could easily defeat him. Especially with his Giant Strength ability, which granted him far more power than a normal class at his level.
The leader coughed, wiping the blood from his mouth as he stood up. His body showed clear signs of injury, but his prosthetic arm remained untouched.
"I want to leave this place," the leader suddenly said. Despite his suffering, his voice remained composed as he looked at Light with those piercing blue eyes. "This city is sick—a prison, a cage. We need to leave if we ever hope to reach a higher freedom."
He lunged forward, his prosthetic arm emitting hissing sounds as more smoke poured out from it. The magic circle engraved on his palm glowed brightly, growing larger and more menacing.
Sensing danger, Light whistled sharply. A swarm of rats surged toward the leader like a tidal wave, engulfing him. For a moment, it seemed the leader was overwhelmed, but then a black light erupted from within the writhing mass. A hissing sound filled the air as the swarm screeched in agony, black flames consuming them one by one.
The leader reemerged, and his appearance transformed. Black patterns spread across his face, his eyes darkened with an ominous glow. Light was taken aback—not only by the leader's berserk state but also by the shocking surge in his strength, which now rivaled that of a Knight-Class.
"This is getting out of hand," Light muttered. In an instant, he appeared behind the leader, and the two clashed with explosive force.
While Light and the leader battled fiercely, the Ratkin had already dealt with the leader's lackeys. They were weak—so weak that even Kratch could handle them alone. But their victory was overshadowed by the chaos of the leader's berserk transformation.
One of the fallen lackeys, clutching his side, suddenly shouted, "This is bad! We need to stop the leader! If he loses complete control, he'll become even stronger—and your leader will die too!"
Kratch frowned, his eyes narrowing as he rubbed his chin. He had noticed something was off with the leader, and the lackey's warning only confirmed it. The leader was like a rabid beast, utterly consumed by his power.
Kratch pulled a small notebook from his pocket, scribbled a quick note, and turned to the lackey. "So, what do we do with him?"
"We need to inject this!" The lackey, visibly exhausted and injured, shakily held out a pink serum-filled syringe. "If the leader keeps going berserk, he'll lose his mind completely. And if that happens, your leader won't survive either!"
Kratch grimaced but grabbed the syringe. Steeling himself, he approached the chaotic battle raging between Light and the leader.
"Father, hold him down! I will do the Rest!" Kratch yelled.
Hearing this, Light, who had been planning to kill the leader, slowed his assault.
Kratch immediately appeared beside the leader and injected the syringe into his neck.
The leader, who had been in a berserk state, gradually began to calm down. Clarity returned to his eyes as the madness faded.
After a moment, the leader finally spoke. "Thanks for helping me, rat man."
"Don't be foolish. We're not helping you," Light replied sharply. "I want to know exactly what you want from us. And call us Ratkin, not Rat Man."
"Thanks," the leader muttered with a sigh, casting a glance at his lackey before continuing. "You could've killed my teammate, but you didn't. Mercy's rare in a place like this, so I've decided to tell you the truth..."
He then began to explain.
"Those who enter this place are chosen by the King in Yellow. No one knows exactly how they got here. Some say they faint and wake up in this city, with no memory of how they arrived. There's no way out—you won't find an exit here. This place is encircled by impenetrable rock walls. Many have tried to dig their way out, but no matter what they do..."
He then shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips.
"So, those who enter this place—or are sent here—are chosen by the King in Yellow?" Kratch asked, adjusting his glasses as he scribbled in his notebook. "You approached us because you believe we're chosen by him. It's understandable to think we might be touched by his influence. However, attacking us was rude, and under the Law of Execution, punishment is required."
He paused, tapping his pen against the notebook before adding, "At the very least, be civilized—ask first, then attack later."